


Likeness

by Laylah



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne
Genre: Backstory, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-16
Updated: 2008-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-09 00:04:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boy he remembers was so clear and strong, laughing, stabbing, eyes bright and hands quick. What he wants, what he wants to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Likeness

They're so easy, no wonder the demons use them. They cringe and they flee and they cower and Sakahagi stabs and tears and rips at soft flesh until it pulls free of stone skulls, until the manikins turn to sludge under his pick and his hands, raw red magatsuhi and the wet mess of blood returning to clay -- it's easy and it's all he wants and it's not _enough_. They should scream and fight, should _feel_, the way he does. The way -- there's a memory in his heart, pain and a boy laughing and -- the blood was brighter then, in the time he remembers, and there were more things to feel. Not just this, the maze of tunnels in Asakusa and the broken manikins under his hands, flickering dead light and the memory of better fear.

Sakahagi rips his pick free of the one he's just destroyed -- a little more anger in his hands, a little more fear in the back of his throat, but even all the magatsuhi he could tear from it doesn't make it really interesting. It didn't even make any good face when he killed it, so he doesn't think he'll bother taking its face with him. There must be _something_ worth hurting around here.

The lights dim and die when he passes, and there are demons down here, but they want easier prey, leave him alone when they catch the scent of blood on his clothes and the agonized expressions of his trophies. Pathetic. Sakahagi stalks through the maze, and there's something _calling_ him, more power, more strength. The boy he remembers was so clear and strong, laughing, stabbing, eyes bright and hands quick. What he wants, what he wants to be.

The anger carries him out of the underground, the hallways with their stale memories trapped in them, to the red pillars of a temple. He never had a use for Asakusa, for the quiet and contemplation, even when he was -- when Tokyo was -- it won't come clear in his head, like that fucking matters. There's a girl there, at the door of the temple, in the dim light of waning kagatsuchi. She's talking to someone, gesturing with the same jerky shuddering movements that all the other manikins use. Failures. Sakahagi thinks about following her, wrenching those ill-fitting limbs from their sockets and squeezing free all the pain she can come up with.

She isn't what calls to him, though, so he doesn't bother. Maybe what he wants is inside. When she leaves he steps out of the shadows and slinks up to the temple gate. Yes. he can taste copper on his tongue.

There's someone meditating on the temple floor, eyes closed, so solid and so calm he almost doesn't look like a manikin at all, almost looks -- a boy laughing and a man crying out in pain -- the bright flash of a knife, the raw red of blood against the lush pink of lips -- Sakahagi lunges without even being able to help himself, stolen magatsuhi boiling under his skin.

"Found you," he snarls, as his pick finds --

Nothing, only empty air and then the tatami, as the other rolls out of the way and comes up in a wary crouch. It's the wrong expression but the right face, the one he remembers. There should be knives, sharper blades, not this dull thing that'll tear as much as it cuts.

"You're the killer," the other says.

Sakahagi laughs. "Do you remember me? Do you remember Sakahagi?" He gathers his weight again and springs, and this time the other doesn't dodge but reaches for him, turning his weapon hand out of the way and throwing him to the mat on the other side.

"What is there to remember?" the other says. "Our past is captivity and suffering. I look to the future, for all of our kind."

"Our kind?" Sakahagi asks. He laughs again. "There aren't any others of our kind. Not among the manikins." He can remember that face, remember envy so well he thinks he may be feeling it, but he can't remember -- "You never told me your name."

"Never?" the other says. He looks older, when his face is so calm. "We've only just met."

"For the second time," Sakahagi says. "In this life." He thinks the other looks surprised by that. Can they feel surprise? Not fresh terror, but new confusion? How many feelings can the other hide, under his skin? "Tell me your name."

The other rises to his feet, ready, his hands at his sides but not limp -- waiting for a new attack. "I am Futomimi," he says. "And you -- you are the trial I saw in my vision, the threat to the peace of Asakusa."

"Am I?" Sakahagi asks. "Can you foretell things other than death now?" He drops his pick. He wants to touch, wants to grapple and bruise Futomimi's pale skin under his fingers. When he takes a step, Futomimi takes one too, and they circle each other, eyes wary. Sakahagi keeps waiting for the smile to spread hungry and merciless across Futomimi's face, but it won't happen.

"What is it that you remember?" Futomimi asks. He stands lightly on the balls of his feet, watching, waiting. "None of us remember an entire life, from before."

Sakahagi growls. "You have to remember this," he says. "It's important." He lunges, and this time he's trying to _hold_, so when Futomimi pushes him he just doesn't let go and they both land on the tatami. Futomimi's body is hard and solid against his, not mud-soft -- of course, of course, the only one strong enough. "You did this to me. You're a killer, a killer, ah --"

"I do not see the past," Futomimi says, and he moves, like he could keep Sakahagi pinned, pressure and friction so _right_.

"I remember," Sakahagi hisses, holding on, pushing up against Futomimi's weight. "Your tongue, the blood, the cold -- blood on your knife, you licked -- I want -- I want --"

Futomimi's hands on his shoulders lift him up, slam him down into the floor again, and Sakahagi shudders with relief. It feels -- he's lost the word, if he knew it. He must have known it. "Listen, now, brother-killer," Futomimi says. His voice has grown distant, and his eyes look through Sakahagi to an impossible distance. "The power you seek is not here. Your destiny waits in Yoyogi Park, where the grounds already have been stained with blood." He focuses again, and looks Sakahagi in the eyes. "Go there, and leave this city be."

Sakahagi bares his teeth. It's like a smile. "My destiny?" he says.

"Enough violence to sate even you," Futomimi answers.

"Hah," Sakahagi says. He shoves, and Futomimi lets go. "That I might have to see."

He's going to kill as many of the damn manikins as he can on the way out, though. See if _that_ jogs Futomimi's memory.


End file.
